TJ Johnston explains to his students the next shooting exercise during his AllSafe Basic Handgun Class at Burro Canyon Range in Azusa. KEN STEINHARDT, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Shooting class volunteers Bill Anderson, left, of Fountain Valley; Gus Themaras of Irvine; and Ed Wolff and his 20-year-old daughter, Dannielle Wolff, of Buena Park staple aluminum pie tins to targets at TJ Johnston's AllSafe Basic Handgun Class at Burro Canyon Range in Azusa. This exercise introduces the student to shooting under pressure as Johnston sounds a horn and counts off five seconds. The student has two five-round magazines and two five-second chances to fill the tin with holes. KEN STEINHARDT, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

TJ Johnston explains the next exercise to his students during his AllSafe Basic Handgun Class at Burro Canyon Range in Azusa. This is where students put two bullets into three cardboard torsos as fast as they can. KEN STEINHARDT, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

Orange County Register columnist David Whiting and Mike Kellogg of Diamond Bar walk through the course and prepare for a stress-fire scenario during TJ Johnston's AllSafe Basic Handgun Class. KEN STEINHARDT, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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After the day at the range is done, TJ Johnston and his volunteer staff ask students what was the most important thing they learned and what was the most fun during the AllSafe Basic Handgun Class at Burro Canyon Range. KEN STEINHARDT, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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TJ Johnston smiles as he answers a student's question during his AllSafe Basic Handgun Class at Burro Canyon Range in Azusa. KEN STEINHARDT, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

I put two slugs through each bad guy – it's best to be sure – knock down a couple of metal squares with the help of a. 40-caliber Smith & Wesson, pop out its now-empty magazine, smack in another mag and bang a gong.

Johnston keeps track of my score. But I suspect he does something else. He ensures I don't shoot myself in the foot – literally.

A former National Rifle Association board member, Johnston can only hope I don't shoot him in the foot with this column. He's invested a quarter century fighting for what he calls Second Amendment rights.

• • •

It's a Saturday morning and after classroom instruction at Johnston's AllSafe Defense Systems in Orange, the NRA-certified instructor of instructors maneuvers his battered tan Suburban up San Gabriel Canyon Road as we head to Burro Canyon Shooting Park.

The quiet of Mount Baldy's snowy peak above offers a peaceful contrast to both the shooting range ahead and the national debate over gun control – an issue likely to grow hotter with President Obama expected to put the issue center stage during Tuesday night's State of the Union address.

With Johnston, I ride, well, shotgun, as he shares how he came to find his calling. With a no-compromise stance on the Second Amendment, Johnston echoes the NRA's hard-line. "People who cannot trust people with guns are people who cannot be trusted."

Johnston grew up in Anaheim, graduated from Savanna High and attended Cal State Fullerton to study acting. But after university, his choice was dinner theater or stage technician at Knott's Berry Farm. Johnston chose stage technician.

From there, Johnston worked his way up to production manager for ABC's famous soap, "General Hospital." Along the way, he also nurtured another passion: self-defense, both unarmed and armed.

In the early 1970s, Johnston formed the CSUF Kung Fu Club. He taught martial arts while earning nearly every NRA certificate available.

But in 1989 a new state law, the Roberti-Roos Assault Weapons Control Act, sparked Johnston to become a gun rights advocate.

• • •

The act resulted in California having the toughest gun control laws in the country. It limited the number of rounds in gun magazines and banned more than 50 models of firearms, including AR-15s, the gun used in several mass shootings and dubbed the most popular gun in America.

Accordingly, the act prompted Johnston to form the Gun Owners Action Committee, designed to elect local leaders who favored gun rights. Johnston was named Gun Rights Defender of the Month by the Citizens Committee for the Right to Keep and Bear Arms.

In the early 1990s, Johnston, now a father, burned out on the grueling hours of daytime television. That's when he launched his self-defense business.

"My job's to get people armed to fight bad guys," Johnston tells me. He says he offers criminals a choice: "Find a better line of work or cleanse the gene pool."

Tough talk is nothing new for Johnston. And it's not just talk. After the 1992 riots in Los Angeles he founded Orange County Corps, a group he that he told reporters at the time included 300 ready responders.

"If the rioters come south, we are going to set up armed roadblocks at the corner of Artesia Boulevard and Knott Avenue and hold the line right there."

Yes, there are many sides to Johnston, just as there are many sides on what to do with America's 300 million guns.

With a sharp wit tempered by an easy smile, Johnston offers, "The fraternity of gun owners are the nicest people."

As I step out of the Suburban and into the sound of gunfire, I hope he's not kidding.

• • •

If the measure of a cause is selfless devotion, then gun advocates have little to worry about.

The incessant gunfire has some students on edge. Others are nervous about the idea of handling a loaded weapon. Still, Johnston's assistants manage to spread an infectious calm. Understand, each one – from a 20-year-old woman to an 85-year-old man nicknamed "Chief" – are unpaid volunteers.

Ed Wolff, a Buena Park auto mechanic whose father was a police officer, serves as range master. He explains he's here because he believes in the Second Amendment and "the more people who can handle guns safely, the better."

Wolff taught his daughters how to handle firearms as well as other family members and friends. He calls himself "anal safety."

Wolff recounts the time a friend of his nephew once started waiving his dad's rifle around. The nephew spotted a live round in the chamber. Possible tragedy averted.

As the class continues, Wolff punctuates conversations by quietly reminding students to take their finger off the trigger unless they are about to shoot, to point muzzles at the ground, to ensure chambers are empty.

Along with safety – and safety is paramount – Johnston allows he hopes to instill in his students something he calls "the warrior mindset."

Criminals will back off if they realize you believe that "your life is more important than theirs and you will do anything to defend it," he says.

I hold a. 357 revolver, load the cylinder, cock the hammer, line up the sights and move my index finger a fraction of an inch.

A bullet with a full metal jacket moves through space at more than 1,200 feet per second.

• • •

I end up trading off on a. 40-caliber Smith and Wesson with R. Claire Friend, a Newport Beach psychiatrist.

Friend explains that the root cause of mass shootings "is not about guns, but about souls." She calls the shooters "asocial," people with anti-social personality disorders.

The American Psychiatric Association says at least three of these characteristics must be present for such a diagnosis: failure to conform to social norms, deceitfulness, impulsivity, aggressiveness, irresponsibility, reckless disregard for safety, lack of remorse.

Friend's is a chilling diagnosis. It certainly seems to fit the shooters. She is equally blunt about therapy: "We can't fix everybody."

I load two gun magazines and hand them to Friend. The doctor smiles, says thanks, picks up the. 40-caliber Smith & Wesson and slides in the first magazine.

I ask about background checks. But my question is lost in sound of gunfire.

David Whiting's column appears four days a week; dwhiting@ocregister.com

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